


No Time Like the Present

by dinamoJeon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out About Merlin’s Magic (Merlin), Banishment, Exile, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), hence the gaydar tangent up there, i forsee so at least, slowburn, tags prone to additions until the story's complete
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22350325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinamoJeon/pseuds/dinamoJeon
Summary: The theory goes something like this: All that destiny talk is just a pile of utter rubbish.Enter scene: New, lost and perhaps even re-found friendships. Little high, little low. A mad witch, a not so mad sorceress and of course, woollen quilts.The theory is put to a test. Can the path Merlin chooses for himself bring him to the Golden age of Albion--Or is the path of misery the only way?
Relationships: by gaydar i mean how gay could i make it before it affects the plot and if i even should, hmm hmm who knows, the plot is certain but my gaydar isn't
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	No Time Like the Present

**Author's Note:**

> Fairly certain of where I'm taking the plot, only I'm not yet certain how fast I'm taking it. Bon voyage, I suppose?

So Merlin has a theory.

Arthur would mock him and say something along the lines of _do you even know what the word theory means?_ Yes, Merlin does. And he is more than capable of thinking of one.

Perhaps riding out of Camelot without any companions gives him too much time and quiet to mull things over. Maybe the emotions of anger, desperation and regret that marked his departure colour the whole image differently enough for him to reconsider everything he believed in for the last couple of years.

The theory goes something like this: All that destiny talk is just a pile of utter rubbish.

Noble as his end goal was, he's beginning to doubt there ever was anything that was _supposed_ to happen. Because all choices he made for that destiny were made with another's influence, including all those times he tried going against 'destiny' and made the prophesied events happen all on his own. And now that he made oneㅡ _O_ _ne!ㅡ_ decision completely on his own (Even Gaius was left excluded!) he had sufficiently fucked up his glorious " _destiny_ ". Separating paths with the Once and Future King was never told to happen, in fact Merlin was supposed to remain tightly knit to King's side to guide and protect him at all times. So if there _really_ wasn't any helping destiny (as he previously thought to be proven by his attempts to stop certain events), how come Merlin is banished on the pain of death instead of stuck to Arthur despite all odds?

All by making _his own decision_ regarding _his own destiny_.

He's already got half a mind set on believing he's been continuously manipulated into bringing this _dream_ of united Albion forth into reality. Believing that his "destiny" is nothing more but another's fantasy. He's already had multiple conversations with Kilgarrah in his thoughts, multiple versions with multiple outcomes. Sometimes he imagines the semi friend of his trying to convince him he would find his way back to the king in no time, other times the dragon admits to his sly plans and laughs at the fool he made out of the warlock. He doesn't shout for the _actual_ Kilgarrah to show up and give him his actual piece of mind though, he's really not in the mood for that.

Nevertheless, destiny or none, he can't go back now. He took a great risk by revealing himself to Arthur and now he's paying the price. Finding himself unable to face his mother so soon after coming into this predicament, he decided to some travelling. Night before his departure is remembered by the pleasant surprise of Gwaine coming to say goodbye, that and the advice he had given.

_"Merlin." Gwaine's voice startles the said boy mid packing. Merlin cautiously looks up from his bag to gauge other's expression and finds it significantly differing from Arthur's betrayed face. Gwaine, for all Merlin could tell, looks pained. Merlin tries to smile in greeting but it's forced._

_"Merlin I..." Gwaine huffs then. He walks closer and runs a distressed hand through his hair. After a moment's hesitation he pulls the skinnier one into his chest for a hug. The embrace is brief, but means the world to Merlin. Their eyes meet as Gwaine pulls back and Merlin can tell from knight's unease that there's much to be said yet not enough words (or perhaps courage) to say them. Gwaine keeps one hand on Merlin's shoulder, savouring contact while he can._

_It reminds them both of the time Gwaine was the banished one and Merlin reluctantly bid him farewell, but back then they weren't yet nearly as close and hadn't shared nearly as much. Another difference was that for Gwaine existed the hope of return upon passing of the crown from father to son, meanwhile Merlin has been banished by the son himself and lost his chance to regain his favour._

_"I thought I'd be ready to leave Camelot for youㅡ" Gwaine cuts himself off and winces at the words, "What I mean to say is, you're my friend Merlin. My first friend and one of the dearestㅡ"_

_"But I'm no longer your_ _only_ _friend. I understand Gwaine, Camelot is your home now. You have friends here. You have purpose now. Heck," Merlin huffs a laugh before continuing, "Gwaine, I'd never ask of you to leave that all behind for me. Wouldn't want you to...But thank you, really."_

_Gwaine smiles apologetically, Merlin really must've hit that nail on its head there._

_Gwaine puts both of his hands on other's shoulders then, "I'll speak some sense into him, he shouldn't have done this, it isn't rightㅡ" he stops talking as Merlin knocks the grip from his shoulders and grabs the knight's forearms instead._

_"Don't hit him too hard, aye?" Merlin requests jokingly._ _They share a small laugh that dies as quickly as it happened. More serious, he says,_ _"Just...Don't worry about me, okay? Arthur made his choice and he has his reasons. Don't...He will need you while I'm gone. You and the rest of the knights. Don't let what came between us come between you."_

_"Well he wouldn't need me_ _while_ _you're gone if you_ _weren'_ _t gone..."_

_Merlin just shakes his head, unwilling to discuss it further. Gwaine stands idly by as Merlin gets back to packing and watches him with sad eyes. "Where will you go?" the knight asks after a stretch of silence._

_Merlin shrugs, "Escetir? I don't really wanna go back to Ealdor yet, but maybe I can...I don't know, Gwaine. Camelot was all I knew for so long..."_

_"Escetir is good." the knight quips before Merlin could go on an emotional tangent, "And I'm not talking about taverns. There's a village in the southwest, I think you could find it to your liking there. Plus it's close by Camelot's border in the case ofㅡ"_

_Merlin raises his eyebrows as if to dare him to finish that sentence._

_"Just in case!" Gwaine grins playfully._

As pessimistic as he is for any such case to be realised, he travels south for the village of Sundale. He's not sure how many days it takes him to get there, he doesn't bother keeping count. He makes a camp only once, but that doesn't go to say his trip consists only of one night. He's eager to get off the road and travels even during night time, and if he uses magic to keep a small light ahead of him, no one has to know.

He's half asleep on his horse by the time Gwaine's directions get him into any form of civilisation. It's early morning, sun barely up and grass dewy, but there's already multiple villagers mulling about and getting to work. Some spare him only a brief glance and others keep a watchful eye on him as he enters what seems to be the village centre. He's astonished by the amount of houses here and would call Sundale a town rather than village, what with the close-knit system of houses lining the road and sporadically spreading away from the centre, much bigger and grander than Ealdor.

"Excuse me," he calls to a man close by, sitting on a stool in front of a house. The man seems curious about Merlin's appearance, looking over his steed and the bag it's carrying. "I'm travelling to Sundale. Have I arrived or should I keep going?" he asks the older man.

The stranger pets down his moustache, "Ye're in Sundale, alright. What brings ye here, if I may ask?"

"A friend sent me here. Thought I could stay for a while." Merlin tells him honestly and the man hums in understanding, "Thank you!" Merlin stays on his horse for few more strides before getting down and guiding it along. He keeps moving until he's standing before an inn.

"A fine horse you got there." a deep voice says behind him. He turns to be faced with a middle-aged man. He immediately tenses, expecting the worst from the stranger, yet the man's face doesn't seem hostile at all. 

"Thanks." he says flatly, gauging the guy's behaviour. He knows he could handle a lone attacker like this one without difficulties, but he'd rather not cause trouble on his first day here. He keeps a possessive hand on his steed's mane.

"Going to the inn? I can keep him safe for you while you're there."

Merlin could almost laugh at the transparent attempt. "No, I'm good. Thank you." he forces a tight smile for appearances and notices the man sticking his tongue against his taut cheek. They remain standing there and starring each other down for a moment before the guy seems to lose interest. Just as he nods in a stiff farewell and turns Merlin considers whether he can afford leaving his horse outside while he asks for information and decides not to take that risk, "Hey, can I ask you something?"

The man turns back with a surprised expression, he nods.

"Do you know where I could find a woman named Rosalyn?" Merlin asks and feels silly doing so considering the man had just attempted to fool him.

The guy frowns at the question, "Rosalyn? As in...Rosalyn the daughter of Simon Biggie?"

Merlin has no idea who Simon is nor whether the woman he's looking for is his daughter, but Gwaine also mentioned Rosalyn isn't quite accepted into Sundale's community so he figures Rosalyn Biggie must be the one he's after, judging by man's odd tone. He nods in affirmation and the man seems reluctant to disclose anything. "Last house that way." he points, "If you haven't reached any birches you still have way to go, but if you reach the lake you went too far." And that seems to be all the man is willing to say seeing as he turns and walks away briskly.

However vague the instructions, Merlin follows them. He can feel the soft flesh of his horse's nose as it keeps nipping at the back of his kerchief, he absent-mindedly raises a hand for the mare to snuggle into. Everyone he walks by keeps staring.

He perks up at the first sight of a birch.

He doesn't stop until he reaches the last house in the line, appraising the modest building. He spots a woman in the garden. "Excuse me!" he calls and she stops peeling her vegetables to hear him out without qualms. He edges as close as he can without touching her fence, "Rosalyn?"

The woman immediately frowns. "And what of her?" she snaps, suddenly hostile.

Merlin has half a mind to turn right around and leave. "So you're not Rosalyn?" he keeps his neutral politeness. She seems to bristle at the implication.

"Lord, no! That wench?" she starts peeling violently. Merlin observes her carefully and the woman seems sated to end that conversation right there.

He scratches his head, "Mind telling where I can find her then?" he asks reluctantly. She seems to contemplate it quite hard, staring at the ground with a glare.

Eventually she sighs. "Fine! But if you're looking for her...servicesㅡIt's not _me_ who told you where to find her." the woman puts her tools aside and strides towards him. Her services? Merlin can only sigh. Gwaine _would_ send him to a prostitute, wouldn't he? No wonder everyone seems to not want to be known to know where to seek the Rosalyn woman.

The woman leans over her fence, glancing at other gardens to see if the neighbours are watching. She speaks quietly, "If you go on right ahead, You'll find a lake." He nods, listening. She bites her lip for a moment as she looks in the direction she'd pointed, "But you do'wan' ta reach the lake, you hear?"

He stares at her for a moment. "So," he speaks just as quietly, "I just walk that way until I stumble into the house?"

"But before the lake!" she warns, "You see, newcomers can't tell the hut's there at first. Her _kind_ ," she starts to whisper with a sense of conspiracy, "They're good at hiding, innit?"

Merlin's face is stuck in an incredulous expression. "Right." he plays along with the secretive tone, " _Her kind_." She nods, wringing her hands.

"Watch out for the birches." she instructs, "If you look carefully, they'll lead you right to her." And with that she storms back to her stool and goes back to peeling her vegetables with abandon, resolutely pretending he's not there and they'd never spoken.

"Right then. " Merlin mutters to himself. He gives his horse a gentle pat, "Let's find those birches then, shall we?"

As confusing as the directions may be, he eventually does realise there's something afoot with the trees around him. His magical sense prickles, but he doubts that's what the woman had spoken of. He walks slowly, observing the trees with such focus he's starting to feel like an idiot.

And suddenly he's in front of a lake.

"Well we bloody missed, didn't we?" he complains to the horseㅡwhich takes the opportunity to have a good drink. He looks around; A nice place, really. While they're stood on a bank, the opposite edge of the lake is kissing a small cliff. Hearing a flow, Merlin observes carefully until he spots small streams cascading through the rocks. He smiles.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asks the horseㅡwhose now busy chewing on the greenery.

"Quite." someone answers him, making Merlin startle slightly. He turns to see a woman clad in peasant clothes, with twin fiery ginger braids cascading from her head. The look she's giving him is a suspicious one.

"Hello there." he greets, slightly awkward. She raises an eyebrow.

"So who are you and what do you want from me?" the red head questions, taking slow steps closer, arms crossed under her chest. He imagines the face he's making is a slightly shocked one.

"Rosalyn?" he checks in a careful voice. When she doesn't react beside blinking at him expectantly, he concludes this must be her. Merlin smiles, "Hi, my name's Merlin. How did you know I was looking for you?"

"Hullo Merlin." she seems less on edge now. Apparently his demeanour doesn't seem all that hostile after all. She uncrosses her arm and rests them onto her hips instead. Looking back towards the birch path she shrugs, "Wasn't hard to guess, what with how you went gawking at the trees. Like a calf ogling colourful doors." Before he can respond she goes on with her own line of questioning, "Why were you looking for me, Merlin?"

"A friend sent me here. Thought you might let me stay with you...For whatever reason." being faced with his supposed potential landlord, he's starting to doubt it, "Gwaine?" His hands are hanging by his sides; for some reason he's too aware of them, yet he doesn't know what to do with them. She stares at him for a moment, unreadable. Then she jerks her head to invite him to come along. He takes the reins and brings his mare along, following Rosalyn back up the birch path.

Looking completely normal and natural in its existence there, a house of wooden walls and straw roof sits in shade of birch treetops. These particular trees seem to climb higher into air, their bark more heavily cracked up in comparison to the younger ones, their branches weighing with more exhaustion. Merlin's mouth gapes open, looking around and making sure they were on the same road he had followed to the lake. He's certain that the hut...

"It wasn't there when you first passed, I know, save your breath." Rosalyn comments as she heads for a bucket near the house's door. Holding it up for him to see, she tells him, "I'll go get some water for your horse. You can let her into that coop behind the house, it's plenty spacious and she'll have sheep for company. You won't have to worry about her running off. As for yourself, you're welcome inside. There's stew over the fire if you're hungry." And then she's off.

He does as he's told, leading the mare around the cottage and into the sheep pen. "Well, hello there!" he gently says to the skittish sheep, their lambs following suit in their escape even if they personally don't find him frightening. "You be good then!" he warns he horse, scratching her jaw for a minute before he decides to stop stalling and makes his way into the house.

Heart beating a little faster, a little stronger, he steps into Rosalyn's home. One part of the main room is separated by a curtain, behind which he can spot an unmade bed with a heavy woollen quilt. There's a single doorway leading to another room, but Merlin imagines most of the time is spent right here, where the heart is. Most of the dirt floor is covered in knit rugs, also wool, predictably. Wool's also present on stools and benches, as well as a cushioned couch that sorely stands out compared to the more modest furniture. Beside the couch is a large basket with huge yarn balls; clearly Rosalyn is quite handy with wool.

But Merlin's more affected by another talent of hers.

Spotting the stew on low fire as well as a pile of three bowls and utensils on a shelf, he serves himself a portion and sits at the square table in smack middle of the room. Instead of eating though, he's observing the series of hanging appendages--crystals, bones, feathers and rocks; all meticulously arranged in beautiful pendants and, more importantly, all radiating with power.

"Hope you don't mind the mess--I don't get much guests around here." Rosalyn is saying as she enters, immediately scurrying around and rearranging clutter Merlin had barely noticed. 

"You're a sorceress." Merlin blurts out, anticipation making his leg bounce. She stops moving, standing still momentarily before she faces him with an apprehensive look.

"You didn't know." it's not a question, but a realisation. He shakes his head. He cant help but to break out in a large grin, a disbelieving huff of laughter escaping him. She only looks more wary.

"It's alright! I'm--" for some reason, it's still difficult to say it aloud, "I'm a warlock."

Last time he'd admitted it, he was met with a look of betrayal, with anger and disappointment. He was abandoned by his dearest friend and exiled from his home. Today, Rosalyn gasps in surprise, then excitedly scampers over to sit on the stool opposite side of him, nothing but glee in her eyes.

"No wonder Gwaine'd sent you to me!" she exclaims, her cheeks had gotten rosier since the moment of his admittance. her previous attitude bordered on aloofness, but now her demeanour is almost child-like. She's even smiling. "Show me!" she requests.

Her joy was quite contagious; Merlin's smiling too. He spends a moment thinking how to impress her. Pointing a hand at the heart, he brings out fiery sparks and makes them dance in the air, shaped like a dragon. The dragon flies overhead then dives, going this way and that and dragging giddy giggles out of her. Merlin can hardly believe it took him this little time to bring her walls down. With a few words of her own, Rosalyn makes her own dragon, out of water. Merlin feels a thrill at seeing the gold lighting up in her eyes, thinks she must feel the same way about seeing his.

Playing with magic this way feels nothing short of amazing. And it only took him couple of decades and a life's worth of terrible experiences to find a playmate.

The dragons are gone soon after, but the feeling is still suspended. Something so carefree, something cathartic. Their eyes make contact, their lips curl. It takes a moment longer for a sense of social convention to return. Merlin can recognise the moment something in her constrains. Her smile is suddenly shy, her eyes escape his. She clears her throat, gesturing towards his bowl of untouched stew, "It's no good cold." she comments.

He bites back a chuckle, finding something hilarious about the atmosphere. He dutifully takes hold of his spoon and digs in.

"So how do--"

"How come you--"

They start and stop talking simultaneously. Their eyes meet again, he chuckles and she huffs. He gestures at her with the spoon, "Ladies first."

"How chivalrous." she clears her throat, her cheeks still red from laughter, "I'd just like to know what brings you here. How long you're staying, should I expect someone raiding the village looking for you. That kind of thing."

He puffs out his cheeks. "Right." he says, suddenly feeling less elated, "No one's after me and only Gwaine knows I'm here. Besides your villagers I suppose." Then a realisation reaches him. "Oh lord!" he exclaims, "Do they know about you? They were quite fiddle-footed as soon as I'd mentioned you."

She makes a sour expression, "Yeaaah..." she considers her next words, "They probably think you were looking for a magical favour. Everyone wants some now and then but they all pretend they're above asking for any." She's playing with her hair. Unbraids it, braids it again. Then repeats it. Her own spirits seem dampened now.

"Oh. I thought you were a prostitute for a while there." 

She huffs a disbelieving laugh, "I'm sorry, _what_?"

He raises his hands, smiling sheepishly, "Hey, there's only so many professions people don't like to be affiliated with, even if they do benefit from services!" he explains himself, "Besides, there's the matter of Gwaine. He's quite..."

"Promiscuous?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Adventurous." he claims instead, "Judges you for you rather than your circumstance." His gaze dulls out, thinking of his friend, spoon circling though the sauce aimlessly.

Rosalyn is similarly thoughtful. "Guess that's why he befriended the two of us then. There's not much space in the world for the likes of us." There's hardly a point in saying it, it's well known to both already. However, there was something special about having a companion in these feelings. Shared misery and all that.

"It's only been few days since I believed that could change." he smiles mockingly thinking of his faith, "Can you imagine? I actually thought _I_ could reverse _decades_ of fire and oppression."

She gives him a rueful smile. "Painful to have a dream snuffed out, innit?" Both of her braids were undone now. She pushes the wavy ginger curtains and tucks them behind her ears. It makes them stick out slightly. Merlin finds it looking silly, but endearing in a way.

In silent agreement they stick to small talk for the rest of the eve. Merlin eventually does finish his stew and Rosalyn pulls out another woollen quilt out of a cabinet with a spoken word and a flick of her wrist. Similarly the bowl and spoon wash themselves and the fire burns stronger. Merlin revels in the open use of magic.

"Good night, Rosalyn." he says as she retires behind her curtain.

"You can call me Rose." she chimes, launching a pillow to the couch (designated as his bed for the time being). Just for the sake of it, Merlin uses magic to raise the quilt and cover himself, as well to adjust the pillow.

"Good night, _Rose_." he corrects.

"Night, Merlin!" he can hear a smile in her voice, so he smiles into the dark himself. Despite the pain a mere thought of Arthur brings, Merlin can't find it in himself to regret meeting Rose, even if under such awful circumstances.


End file.
